25 Days of Christmas
by 1AmberSkye1
Summary: Based on a Tumblr prompt I found. 25 days of a very E/C Christmas, which may feature all of our lovely cast. Relationships have already been established, but a drabble might focus on the before or during. Our Erik will mostly be musical!verse. Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!
1. Chapter 1 - Mistletoe

The Opera House started decorating early. All holidays were a grand affair here, and almost everyone involved couldn't help but get into the spirit. Late November involved a formal dinner that only a select few were involved in, and the managers raved about it for days after. The more affluent patrons were there, including the Comte Phillipe de Chagny, who, after incredible pestering, let Raoul in on what happened. They were being called not only as friends, but for a business proposition to decorate the Garnier more grandly than ever before, as a way to celebrate their first whole year spent there in success – there was much knocking on wood to keep them from jinxing the statement, and Phillipe had jested they were getting more superstitious than the ballet rats.

The patrons and subscribers were a bit reluctant, at first, but then they had been let in on a secret that would come to fruition on Christmas Eve, which even Phillipe kept from his younger brother, and somehow managed to be kept from anyone in the Garnier at all. But whatever the secret was, it must have been enough to convince them, because their budget ended up being sixty thousand francs larger than last year. Exclamations of happiness were exchanged, and everyone went home with a full stomach and pleasant thoughts. Gossip faded after a week - until the first of December.

It was a mystery indeed how the managers planned it, and who carried out the duty. Some speculated it was the Ghost, while others laughed off such a preposterous thing. Why would a Ghost spend his time making and putting up dozens, if not more, mistletoe balls? No matter what you called them, mistletoe balls or wesleybobs or just wreaths, their meaning was clear through their placement in doorways and staircases and other unavoidable spaces like that. They were for unsuspecting victims – or victorious suitors – to kiss their partner under. The ballet rats and chorus girls had a ball, gathering some up to hang on their own or take with them for good luck home. More appeared soon enough, though, until even calm Christine's curiosity was piqued. Luckily, she had a loving suitor of her own who knew everything about everything that went on.

Her next visit to Erik's underground home found him muttering and looking completely like Scrooge from that book by Charles Dickens.

"Erik, you look angry." she noted helpfully. He sighed and turned.

"This damnable holiday is to blame. How can people stand it?"  
"It's fun, Erik. I just know you will enjoy it by the end of the month." she informed him knowingly.

He scoffed. "I highly doubt that." was his only retort, and she let it go with a decidedly sly smile.

"Of course, dear. I'm sure you know about the mistletoe balls, in that case."  
"Naturally, I know all that goes on in my Opera House." she nodded complacently at him. She had tried to have this discussion with him, and gave it up for more productive ones that she had a chance of winning. It practically did belong to him, anyway.

"So. . .who is the one that hangs them up?" she asked curiously, taking a seat next to him on the piano bench. He looked away, his jaw clenched not in the horrid temper she knew him to have, but something that almost reminded her of Raoul. A smile could not be helped as it spread across her face and she giggled. "You don't know!" she said, now laughing.

"They must have done it while I was not watching, they have not been there for very long." he said, and was clearly affronted. Still laughing, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Yes, dear. I'm sure you will catch the culprit soon."

He could not be too angry when she was so affectionate, so they moved on to other topics. When it was time for her to return above to her room, she seemed antsy. Erik assumed it was because there was the last performance of a very successful season coming up, so thought nothing more of it.

Until they were at the mirror door exit, and she turned to say goodbye, at least. He was very tall, and she was fairly short, so she had only managed to hang the thing at about eye level with Erik. He saw it and looked wordlessly down at Christine, who smiled widely up at him.  
"Well, now how did that get there? It seems you will have to kiss me." she said innocently. Erik looked heavenwards with an expression that was half exasperation and half adoration. She knew he was still not fully capable of understanding just how much she loved him, and that meant all of him, including the mask and what lay behind it.

"It seems I must." he agreed softly, and she went on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands went to her waist to hold her close as they passionately kissed. As always, he took a long look at her afterward, memorizing every detail. She rested one small, warm hand on the uncovered side of his cheek as he did so, and when a knock at the door interrupted them, he took his time saying goodbye.

She took the mistletoe down and lay it on her desk for later. She might have to try that trick again sometime.

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A/N: Welcome! Originally I mentioned Thanksgiving in this even though its an American holiday, but I edited that when 'twas pointed out. Enjoy the drabbles!


	2. Chapter 2 - Hot Chocolate

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for the reviews and all the follows! I didn't have many ideas for this chapter, so its pretty short. They should get longer as the month goes on C: If you like it leave a review? If you didn't like it, leave a review? If you have any ideas you want to see our unlikely couple in. . .leave a review?

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Christine could not get over the fact that Erik hadn't had hot chocolate before. She was so astounded that she immediately led – dragged – him up to the Opera's kitchenette and began pulling out saucepans and ingredients.

"This was papa's recipe, its very old." she told him, "so there was plenty of time to perfect it." she made a complete mess, which was a feat considering how few things she actually used to make the drink, but he humored her and took the presented mug. She bounced on her heels as she watched his reaction, waiting for the wide eyes and smile that always came next.

He grimaced. "This is awful, Christine." he informed her, but saw her crestfallen expression and took another hesitant sip. He still thought it was disgusting. "Perhaps its an acquired taste?" he suggested.

"Oh, so you do like it at least a little, then?" she asked hopefully.

"You made it for me, of course I like it." That was the truth, at least. She always went out of her way to do adorable little things like that.  
"Good! Then I will have to make more some other time." she nodded with a smile, and Erik smiled weakly back while wondering what he had gotten himself into this time.


	3. Chapter 3 - Candy Canes

A/N: Candy canes! I don't know why they are so popular, but they are a requirement for Christmas! This chapter was supposed to be snow, but I had an idea for this now, and so that will be tomorrow :)

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Christine sighed wistfully one day after a voice lesson with Erik. When asked, she laughed and told him, "I'm just wondering if anyone will give me a candy cane this year. As a child I used to exchange them with friends." she told him with a smile, and it wasn't mentioned again.  
The next day Erik paid a visit to a friend.  
"I need you to procure me something." Erik immediately told the Persian when he entered the man's home without knocking. The man really was a complete nuisance, dropping by uninvited and such, so Erik certainly wasn't guilty.  
"What are you plotting, man?" Nadir Khan, more often known as the Daroga or the Persian, questioned. The last time he had been sent to get something it had resulted in a sick prima donna for a week so Christine could get the part, and he did not want a repeat of that.  
"Daroga do not question me!" Erik told him, scribbling something down on a piece of paper.  
"Well what do you want, then?"  
"Candy canes." Erik said seriously, and the Persian blinked once before letting out an undignified snort.  
"I didn't know you to have a sweet tooth, Erik. Or to be fond of the holidays."  
"Both are true. They are not for me, daroga. Will you go or will you not?"  
He went, and came back with a ridiculous amount of candy canes. Over the rest of the month, Christine found a small candy cane a day tied with a black ribbon magically appeared in various places daily.  
He would have been pleased even if she didn't say anything, but the small kiss she placed on his cheek every time she found one before visiting him didn't hurt.


	4. Chapter 4 - Snow

She very clearly remembered Raoul during the winter when they were children. It was the best time to tell scary stories in the dark outside, even though they would shiver and their fingers become numb they loved it. But the daytime was Christine's favorite part, right when the first snow had fallen. Everything became clear like crystal, and all seemed bright and glistening. She would laugh and twirl, and run to get her young friend, drag him outside during whatever he was doing, and they would catch snowflakes on their tongues. The first snow was their time, and it always had been. When the season progressed, one of her favorite things to do was make snow angels, and hers were always perfect. One day Raoul laughingly put her red scarf on the outline of hers, and some stones as a halo on his own.  
"Look, its Little Lottie and the Angel of Music!" they giggled together and she gave him a hug, which he was quite pleased about.

She also remembered when they were older, and her Papa's health was deteriorating. She had gone to another town to see him off, and left her father alone in the inn while they said their goodbyes.

"Don't you fret, Lottie. I'm going off to the North, and I will have adventures just like in the storybooks."  
"Oh, Raoul, I never had to worry about the books, because I knew the danger wasn't real. But it is now! What if. . ."  
"Now, now, Christine. Promise me not to think like that. I will be just fine, and I will find you again."  
She nodded through the tears that pricked her eyes, and he turned and left.

When he was out of sight, she felt something on her sleeve. It was a snowflake, the first of the year. She vowed when he came back that they would spend the whole first snow day together just like old times, and she would convince him to make a snow angel, no matter how old.


	5. Chapter 5 - Christmas Tree

**A/N: **Hey guys! Thanks for all the support and comments, seeing reviews makes my day (hint) even if they're short. Sorry for the lack of anything spectacular, school has been long this week. I'll be able to spend more time on these soon!

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Christine was talking about Erik's lack of holiday cheer, even though it was less than halfway through the month.

"Well, you have to have a tree at least."  
"A tree."  
"Yes, a tree! You know, with tinsel and popcorn strands and an angel on top." she nodded.

"How do you expect to bring a whole tree down here? It would not fit, and carrying it would be unbelievably difficult." he told her. She thought that over a few moments and sighed.

"Well, I suppose you are right. That's okay, I suppose. The Opera will have plenty anyway." she said, cheering up a bit, and they moved onto other topics.

When she was gone, Erik pondered what she had said. No, he did not like Christmas one bit. Even if cheerful people were easier to work around and kinder to the ballet rats and singers. Not a detail about it did he like. However. . .Christine did, and when she was happy, it made him happier too. He had plenty of time on his hands, whether it was the holiday spirit or the learners, the production was running smoothly so far and would be up for a final performance Christmas Eve.

So he would get a tree, even if he could not set it up in his home, there were plenty of places uniquely 'his' that no one could get to. One example was a portion of the roof, a small space unlike the wider expanse that most people thought was the only way up there. It was blocked from the wind and some of the snow or rain, so was a perfect place, with wide passages the whole way there.

Although the Opera ordered and stored twelve various sized trees, they found that one was missing when they began decorating.


	6. Chapter 6 - Angel

Erik led her up to show her the tree the next day. She gasped when she saw the little alcove, tree in the corner looking gorgeous against the backdrop of Paris. She looked at him wide-eyed, and then threw her arm around him. Taking a steadying step back, he held her with a small smile.

"I love you so much!" she exclaimed, and he had to take a deep breath at her beauty, practically glowing with happiness _because of him. _

"Not nearly as much as I love you, my Christine." he replied.

"Oh, I don't know about that." she said with a sly grin, before returning her attention to the tree. "It needs tinsel, I think, and ornaments." she looked at it appraising with a nod.

"It does?" he asked. He thought he had been done with just getting the tree, but those things weren't nearly as hard to get. He left her in his own kitchen, making a kettle of tea, while he himself took a small trip to a storage room and selected a box of what looked like it might go on a tree. Taking it back, he was given two mugs of tea and had the box stolen as she bounced on her heels.

"Will you help me decorate?"

"If you wish me to." he said, though he had no idea what to expect.

It turns out decorating a tree was one part actually putting things on the tree, one part finding out where everything should go, and a last part he was very fond of, which was sitting nearly in his lap and sipping tea, occasionally pecking him on the cheek or kissing his forehead, or giving him eskimo kisses of rubbing her nose on his. This was a new practice that he had never heard of, but found it was pleasant and she was adorable as could be when she did it. He helped hang things on high branches, and soon they were done. They returned downstairs, and they sat on the loveseat, her leaning against him, warming in front of the fire.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "There was no tree topper."

"Topper. . .ah, would that be the angel or star?" she nodded, and then looked thoughtful.

"Well, I already have an angel, so that is no problem." she nodded decisively.

"Is it in your room? We can collect it now if you'd like." he told her.

"No, silly." She scooted a bit away so she could meet his eyes. "You are my angel." a smile was on her face, and he could not resist the urge to kiss her, which led to a long moment of silence.

"My love, I am no angel." he protested, guilt filling him. He was a murderer, after all, and a liar and schemer. . .

"Not truly, of course. But do you not love me?"

"You know I do."

"And do you not protect me if I need it? Guide me in all that I need taught? Help me grow into the singer you believe I can be?" she listed. "Of course you are my angel, and I would have no other."

He traced her face with his thumb and she leaned into the touch. "You are the true angel. Your voice shines like heaven, and your beauty surpasses that of a mere mortal. You and gentle, loving, good. . .you are so filled with virtue there is no room for vice. You guide me too, mon ange." he replied softly. He usually could not voice his emotions as she could, but other times all he wanted to do was sing her praises.

She blushed just a small bit. "Well then, my love, we are well suited for each other."  
"You just might be right." he agreed after a pause, and they resumed their earlier position, just a bit closer to each other.

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A/N: Reviews, my loves? Suggestions?


	7. Chapter 7 - Pie

Meg and Christine were always up to learning something new. The ballerina was striving to master the culinary arts, and she was doing an amazing job so far. Christine definitely supported her in this, because it often meant she got to test her new recipes, which were nearly always fantastic. So when she suggested Christine come and help her make a pie after practice, she agreed.

Ingredients were laid out, and they encountered their first problem in that they were missing some things.

"Well. . .how different can baking soda and baking powder be?" Meg asked. Christine nodded.

"That sounds reasonable. Just replace it, and maybe add a little more spice than usual to cover up any difference?"

"Good idea." she said, and carefully tipped the nutmeg container, but it wasn't coming out. She gently tapped the bottom a few times. Nothing. Sighing she hit it a little harder. . .and nearly half the jar fell in. "Oh dear. Should we restart this?"  
"We already have so much flour in there, that would be a shame. Can we just. . .lift out as much as possible?"

"Well. . .alright then. We can just cover it up with some more flour." she said. "Would you do that, while I make the filling?"

"No problem Meg." Christine told her, and proceeded to spill flour everywhere, mostly on herself. Meg turned just in time to hurry over and attempt to save it, instead getting just as covered. There was a moment of silence, then the two girls made eye contact and burst into laughter.

"You look like a ghost!" she said, laughing. Christine's eyes widened at the mental image of Erik covered in flour, wandering the halls, and laughed even harder.

They cleaned up and put the pie in to bake. It was awful, but at least they had a new experience. At least until Madame Giry came home and saw the mess, then they were both in trouble.

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**A/N:** This was certainly nothing special, I couldn't think of much to do with pie. I have a fairly good idea for tomorrow's, though :) Reviews? Again, if there is any character you want to see in a situation I would love to throw it in there.


	8. Chapter 8 - Tinsel

She was up looking at the tree again, and he was sitting back and watching her, pleased with himself for once. She would look at it critically for a few moments and adjust a strand of that shining silver stuff she called tinsel, all the while telling him the story of how it came into being.  
"You see, there was an old woman who would share Christmas with everyone in the village and get her pets presents, but they felt bad -"  
"The townspeople?"

"Oh, no, the pets. Like her kitten and goat for milking. Anyway, there were some spiders who were swept outside earlier, and they wanted to help her, so they asked Kris Kringle -"  
"That is. . ."  
"Saint Nicolas, or Santa Claus. So he lets them in, but she has already fallen asleep so they cannot help her, and so they spin delicate thread around the tree. Saint Nick turned it into silver, and that's how tinsel was originated." she said matter-of-factually.

Completely preposterous, of course, but it was the type of story she would love. So he only hummed in what she took as appreciation for the spiders. He always liked the creatures, himself, they were rather like him. . . he looked up just in time to see her tug another piece of tinsel. Which was fine, but she was reaching too high. He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards her, when she slipped on a patch of ice and fell back. Luckily she let go of the tinsel, so there was no tree collapsing on her, but he darted forward anyway to try and catch her, but couldn't keep his balance on the ice either. They fell into a heap on the ground, with him on his backside only supported by his elbows.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Oh, I'm fine." she said, embarrassed. She didn't move from her place, and he realized their position in that moment. She was more or less straddling his legs, and she would have to move in order for him to. She seemed to realize the same thing as he did but she didn't move. Instead, she scooted up so she was in his lap and leaned down to kiss him. The mood faded from embarrassment into something more warm, and he returned the kiss soundly.

Slowly he adjusted himself so he was sitting up, her arms winding around his neck and his around her waist. Firmly but carefully he maneuvered her, without breaking the kiss, so he was free from his trapped position, and she backed up against the wall. They broke apart for air and she looked around, confused on to how they had moved there.

"Shall we. . .shall we go inside?" she said through deep breaths, and he didn't hesitate.

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**A/N**: I kind of wanted that to go M-rated places, but I decided against it. Tell me what you think!


	9. Chapter 9 - Ice Skating

Winter in Sweden was cold. Very, very cold. But when Christine was out playing with Raoul, it didn't matter so much, especially if he gave her his coat. He said he wasn't cold without it, but she could tell he was, but he gave it to her when he saw her shivering anyway. It was one of those days, dressed in as many layers as possible with his coat hanging loosely on her and her trademark red scarf wrapped around her neck, that he decided it was the perfect day to go ice skating.

On the first snow day – _their _day – he had gotten her brand-new ice skates. She had absolutely no idea how to skate, and so was terrified. What if she fell through the ice? Raoul had chuckled.

"Don't you fret, I would never let anything happen to you." he told her, and she had felt marginally better. They got to the large, frozen pond, and he told her how to lace them up correctly. She stood, grasping his arm for dear life, but found that it was surprisingly easy to walk around in them. . .at least off of the ice.

"Oh, this isn't so bad." she told him happily, doing a little jump and checking she still had her balance. He grinned.

"See? What did I tell you. Now, just hold my arm as we step onto the ice." he held out his arm and stepped onto the ice, sliding backwards so she could stand in front of him. It looked so easy! He wasn't having any harder of a time on the ice than she was off it, so it must be about the same, right?

Wrong. She took one step out and sipped forward, colliding into him immediately. This sent him backwards, too, and they both slid to the edge of the pond against a snow bank. He began laughing again and she frowned, discouraged. "Come on, let's try that again. You're no worse than I was my first time! I had no help, and, well, it was a mess."

She giggled, imagining him looking forlorn on the ice as a young child, and stood up with some help. An hour later, she certainly was no master – Raoul was being a show-off and skating backwards and spinning – but she could manage slowly. She practiced, and learned that her small skill with dancing could help quite a bit.

Over the next week, she joined then surpassed Raoul in skill, and was soon skating circles around him. . .literally. Her joyous laughter almost made up for his hurt pride, though.

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**A/N**: I'm no R/C writer, but them as kids just keeps popping up in my brain and being adorable.

And, whoops, I think there might be Erik and angst in abundance next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10 - Frost

Everything was covered in frost. It usually didn't even rain here, but now if it did it would be snow instead. He was alone, the camp was deserted. Of course it was. Who would be outside in this weather? Erik never felt anything as simple as the weather. His emotions were too ruled, constantly, by _hate anger pain depression alone, _the mantra he had constructed for himself. It had been this way since the gypsies found him, and it would be this way until he escaped. Because they would never let their most famous exhibit, The Devil's Child, leave on his own, and he had nowhere else to go. They may beat him, but he ate. He had to be alert for his performances, and he had convinced them that he needed a mostly full stomach to sing well. It was often old, cold, rotten, or stale, but it was enough.

Tonight was different though. His cage's bars were icy to the touch, and it was too mall for him to move without touching them. He generated no body heat on his own, and there was nothing for the air to seep from him. He was completely numb, and that took away the crucial _pain _of his mantra. Now he felt the cold, and he soon found it was the worst feeling in the world. Not physically, he endured so much worse daily, but because it left rooms for questions. _Why? Why me?Why do they hate me? Why do I have to be like this? Why am I such a monster? _And they only got worse. The night went on, and still his golden eyes glowed like the stars, wide awake, and thinking. The frost grew heavier and painted itself over everything it could stick to. It found the best place to grow was over the boy's soul.

When they found him that morning, he was different. More quiet.

_It seems the frost got to the monster too, _they said. In a way, it was true.

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**A/N**: sorrynotsorry. i love you all. reviews are magic.


	11. Chapter 11 - Egg Nog

"Oh, I love eggnog." Christine told Raoul when he mentioned that the cook had made more than they knew what to do with. He raised an eyebrow, finding it strange that she would have had eggnog at a young age, but since it was an opportunity to be with her he wouldn't question that. He knew she had a suitor, she didn't bother even trying to hide that, and it was no problem. At first he had been sad, of course, but it was only natural that she had moved on. So he took more of an older brother role, and they always had a good time when they went out, but she had been spending much of the holiday season with him, understandably. So they went to his home – which may or may not have been inappropriate, but he could care less since anyone who mattered knew they were platonic – and they were served some eggnog and biscuits. She tasted it and made a funny face. "Its different than I remember from when I was younger, but its not bad." she told him, and proceeded to drink the entire thing, to his disbelief.

Several glasses later he nearly stood up when he realized something that he should have thought of. "You do know that here in brandy in that, right Lotte?" he asked.

"What do you mean brandy? I'm too young for that yet." she said, and began to giggle. He nearly groaned. Of course, her father would have made the eggnog himself, and would likely have used the nonalcoholic version. Knowing Christine, she would never had more than a polite glass at a ball or wine with dinner in addition to the fact that he didn't know how strong the stuff even was.

"Hey, Lotte. I think its time to go home now. I'll take you, okay?"

"Okay. I'm a little sleepy."

"I'll bet." he said, and for whatever reason she began giggling again. He looked heavenwards and they left, him walking her all the way to her room and making sure she was going to be fine. He explained the situation to Mama Valerius, who seemed more amused by the situation than he had thought she would be, so he left. As he walked down the sidewalk he grinned when he remembered how she had complimented his hair while they walked. As a designated older brother, he would never let her live that one down.

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**A/N**: Here's some Raoul that's actually in the story's 'present' time. Our next chapter will introduce Carlotta! There will be some Opera Ghost antics as well, I think. . .


	12. Chapter 12 - Cider

"Oh thank you Christine!" another of the ballet corps said, as they all shared a large pitcher of cider. Mama Valerius had gotten more than she knew what to do with from a friend in the business, and though her and Erik had a nice time drinking some – he seemed to like to more than the hot chocolate – there was still far too much left. Raoul was off on some business trip with his older brother, and the remainder of his family couldn't stand her. Bearing gifts or not, she was still a singer working in the Opera Populaire. But she didn't care about that now, she was sharing the cider with Meg and the others in the ballet corps, having asked the ballet mistress to let them have some time off.

The small talk and gossip was cut off when the door opened, and none other than the resident Prima Donna waltzed in. Or rather, strutted. There were many comparisons made behind her back that involved an angry hen. And even though Christine didn't like to be rude, she was jut so _awful _to some people that it was hard not to giggle at her when she was being a diva.

"What are you leetle brats doing in the middle of the foyer?" she demanded.

"We got permission from Madame Giry to have a break for refreshments." one girl said quietly. A few others nodded.

"Well get out!" she said with a flip of her ridiculous hairstyle.

"You can't just make us leave!" a girl protested. Seeing the Prima Donna turn an odd shade of red, Christine stepped in to be a peacekeeper.

"Oh, just look at the time." she said, though there was no way to tell what time it was in the room, "I'm afraid I have to go, and you should get back to practice." there were sighs of resignation, but it was time for them to get back to work anyway, so they got up and left, leaving only a seething Carlotta and a meek Christine standing with a pitcher and a few mugs.

"I don't suppose you would like some?" she asked, more out of politeness than anything. Christine assumed that the diva would just flounce out, her goal met. To her surprise, she only sniffed in her usual above-everyone-else manner.

"What ees it?"

"Apple cider." Christine said, offering a mug meekly.

"Never had eet, never want to." the woman said, and turned to leave.  
"Oh, are you sure? Its very good, I assure you."

"Don't act so smart with me, mademoiselle."  
"I-I'm not, ma'am. I just thought you would like to try some." The woman looked torn between trying it and smacking the pitcher from her hand. "If you would?"

"Fine. Don't think I am a friend, now."

"I wouldn't have considered it." Christine said in a kind tone, but mentally was dancing. This was progress! She poured a mug, which Carlotta did indeed admit was very good, and took another. They parted ways, for once, in peace.

Meanwhile, Erik had decided it was time to reestablish himself in the Opera. There would be a performance the evening of Christmas, and he still expected his francs. He found the pair of managers in their office, drinking brandy and laughing about something. His voice came from the ceiling above them, although he was on their right.

"I see you are getting into the Christmas spirits." he said. Firmin gasped and Andre nearly spilled said 'spirit' onto his shirt. Laughter echoed around the room at his own joke, which either the managers didn't catch, or were to scared to remark on. "Now, since we are on the topic of a spirit, good monsieurs, I would like to remind you of my salary, lest you forget."

From behind his watching point Erik chuckled again. Sadly, these managers were much more dense than the last, who had gone so far as to banter puns with him. A direct approach was better with these men.

"Its the ghost, Andre." Firmin pointed out brilliantly.

"Yes, I know, thank you." he snapped back.

"Gentlemen, please." he said dryly. "No need to argue. Will I be able to expect my pay on time or will there need to be other methods taken to encourage punctuality in the future?"

"It will be in Box Five as always." one said, gritting his teeth.

"Good. Until then, sirs, I bid you good day. Do tell that littlest ballet dancer she needs new point shoes. Hers are falling apart."  
"She has no money for such things, monsieur ghost. The ballet mistress expressed the same concerns."  
"My concerns are for the Opera, and they will be addressed. I will talk with Giry. Have a good evening."

It was a clear dismissal, and a few seconds later he heard Firmin whisper, "Did he make a play on the word spirit?" to which he chuckled. He would not ask Madame Giry anything, she had no money for new shoes either. It seemed he would have to take matters into his own hands. He would talk to Christine, instead, who could get the proper size.

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A/N: Sassy Erik is the best Erik ((get it? because a spirit means entergetic but also ghost and also alcohol?)). Did he just decide to get a ballet girl a christmas present? I like to think so. Carlotta may not be in the Christmas spirit either but maybe their rivalry can be helped a little. . .


	13. Chapter 13 - Peppermint

"You know, I've gotten these lovely candy canes once a day the whole month, and I never even asked if you would like one." Christine said thoughtfully, as she was beginning to unwrap it. She offered it to Erik with a smile. "You must have tried one, unless you aren't the anonymous giver after all."

"What if I wasn't?" he asked, though they both knew he was.

"Well then, I would be very worried that there was someone coming into my room that I didn't know. Still, its a lovely gesture."

He smirked a bit, and she decided to take it to mean 'I know' in his own way. She only offered the candy again and he split it in half.

"I find that these are not totally awful." he admitted, and somehow managed to eat it with great dignity. She simply grinned and let it go, she had a lead role to learn.


	14. Chapter 14 - Gingerbread

If anyone had seen him at that moment, he would have seriously considered killing them just so there was no chance of this getting out. The Opera Ghost was in his kitchen. . .making cookies. The fact was beyond his comprehension, and he was beginning to regret it. He gritted his teeth as he tried to decipher the recipe. "Just remember, its for Christine." he told himself. Then looking at the next item on the list he groaned. He had written down the ingredients and procured them with little problem. It was these units of measurement he was having a problem with. It was like they were in another language, at least most of them. He understood tsp. . .but that was more or less where his knowledge stopped, and he did not have a measuring cup nor a set of measuring spoons.

However, he was a genius and he would figure this out. He decided on gingerbread, simply because they didn't sound tooth-rotting as most of the others did, and he guessed he would have to stomach some of these. He had been remarkably clean, and his clothing and the surfaces were all as spotless as they began, minus a drop of molasses that had dripped from the bowl. Finally, though, he had worked it out well enough.

He went to retrieve his angel from her room, only a few seconds late, and he would tell when she first smelled the cookies because she made no motion to hide the fact that she smelled something, and then broke into a grin. "Do I smell. . ."  
"Gingerbread." he confirmed, and she immediately gave him a hug.

"Oh, thank you! Where did you get them?"

"I made them, actually."  
"Really? Well then I look forward to them even more!" she said, and when they tried them – he found that much like peppermint, these were not so bad. He pretended he didn't see her sneak a third before making her hold off until later. He was not going thorough that process again.


End file.
